Given
by Arda-Xanth
Summary: There was only ever one choice on who would produce his heir-Bellatrix. The story of Voldemort's child, without Mary Sue nonsense. Dying for reviews.
1. Honor me

**Given**

_"Honor me"_

A/N: You see it so often where there is a daughter of Voldemort, attends Hogwarts, falls for Harry or Draco, and such. It's boring and not plausible. For some reason, they have eyes of strange hues and pet thestrals. They are Mary-Sue's goth cousin Mary-Jane. I thought I'd give it a shot and see if I can write a good story with this plot. _Flames are welcome, just review!!!_

Disclaimer: I'm just playing with JK's world. It isn't mine.

* * *

Onto white pages, dark locks flow like the ink scribed there. Beneath the hair, a pair of cool eyes watch me with admiration from a pale and noble face. A slender set of ivory hands turn to the next page every so often, but other than this, Bellatrix is no distraction. 

Ordinarily, I do not even recall her presence, with my mind on more pressing issues. Usually, I have no need to consider her, but for months now I have debated a problem, which is not exactly that. Bellatrix would be the most obvious solution. Of them, she is most loyal, which is of great importance for this in particular, but has she the strength or wisdom?

I look to hearth where a roaring fire burns. My body is slower than something wholly alive, so it is the wont to become chill with ease, though I rarely get ill from it. It is likely uncomfortable for Bellatrix to remain in this chamber, attired as she is in velvet. It speaks of her dedication, yet does it speak too of her will or compliance?

"Bellatrix."

She parts the thick, dark hair obscuring her countenance to mildy gaze up at me from her place at the right of my chair. This small act reveals her reverence. Perhaps she will be rewarded one day. When I rule, perhaps Bellatrix and my other favorite pets will have a dais and lesser thrones near mine.

I smile slightly, so Bellatrix smiles, wan lips turning skyward only so much as she dares. "Would you honor me, and do for me a certain task?"

"Anything you ask of me, my lord, I shall complete to the fullest of my skill."

"You remember the prophecy I sent you to obtain?"

"Yes, my lord." she says, ashamed. I realize that this recent defeat ails them all, and so they must not forget that they failed me.

"We know it speaks of my end, and how it should come about."

"Yes." She still does not comprehend. Why cannot she think as I do?

"In my absence, I believe at least some of you will carry on."

Bellatrix is among them, and this is one reason for her being so useful. It is foolishness to trust my Death Eaters, but if ever I need choose, Bellatrix would be my decision. Her loyalty is to me alone. It is troublesome at times, for she seeks guidance too often, or attempts to please me, but takes unneessary risks to do so.

Others of equal importance, such as Lucius, are loyal to the cause and to the promise of power. If I were slain, Bellatrix would seek to avenge me while Lucius would not hesitate to find someone to take my place. It is those who allow me to be aware and cautious.

"Indeed."

"However, you will need one to lead you, will you not?'

"We will, my lord." she replies, cool eyes sparking with intense interest as she begins to understand the underlying point.

"I would not have just anyone do this, nor would I choose any from my followers; it is a risk too great."

"Then who will be your heir?"

"Someone who is no threat to me."

"Who, my lord, do you speak of?" she asks, not impatiently, but anxiously, excitedly, avidly.

"A child."

"Which child, my lord?"

"Mine."

She blinks and the faint indications of a smile mark her visage as she waits for me to elaborate. Those dainty, white hands twist and untwist in her lap, anticipating my next declaration.

"I would have you bear this child, if you will."

She opens her mouth to agree, but I raise a hand and her lips close once again at my command. That is one liability, her eagerness.

"You must contemplate this earnestly, Bellatrix."

"I mean not to doubt you, my lord, but how can this be done?" she inquires innocently enough. It is amusing, but I do not laugh or smile.

"Not by the common method, but magic can end a life and magic is able to create life. The spell needed for this demands a strong spirit and sacrifice."

Ready to agree this time, she takes a breath and says rather, remembering she is to do so only after deep thought "What is it I am to sacrifice?"

"We will not know until the magic is done. Are you willing?"

"I will think on it, as you bade me to do."

"Thank you." I say hollowly, allowing her to assume what she will from that."

"I am glad to please and honor you."


	2. Trust me

Given

_"Trust me"_

AN It's been a _looong_ time since I've updated. My files got deleted, I got viruses, and all sorts of nasty things happened until I gave up. Yet, I missed you guys! So, I'm getting back into the habit.

* * *

Even chalk is darker than my hands. Bending down-It is not something I would usually do, but the magic requires me to be the one drawing-I sketch a pentagram on the black marble. Bellatrix, a saffron piece in her grasp, traces over my markings. Then, I come to the center and use my wand to trace over the pattern. From the wand comes a beam of black light, in that it seems to eat the illumination from it's path. From the outside, Bellatrix orbits the pentagram, using the same spell on the circle, and an even older one on the star's sides. The entire figure glows like embers for almost a full minute, and then the magicked chalk cools, leaving behind a smooth, shiny material resembling iron. 

From the gathered ring outside, five figures in their masks move forward, each setting a green taper on the points. The smoke rises, pungent, and thickens until a screen is surrounding the pentagram. Bellatrix enters the middle, careful not to step upon the lines. The woman kneels down on her knees. Before her, I place a heavy bowl of cut crystal, with quicksilver filling an inch or so. I instruct the other Death Eaters to leave the chamber, and when I am sure they have all gone, I produce a crystal dagger from the folds of my robe.

Unlike the bowl, this blade is carnelian, inlaid with lapis lazuli runes. Gazing steadily at Bellatrix and focusing on her face, I slash that area of the hand which palm-readers see one's length of life with. Although most modern palm-readers have long ago forgotten the true art, it is a real means of judging the future.

Holding my palm over the bowl, I keep it there until the blood finally stops falling. Without bothering to wipe the blade clean, I pass the dagger to Bellatrix and instruct her to do as I did. Her dark, heavy-lidded eyes are puzzled, likely at the intimacy of blood-mingling. It is no concern though, for I have no doubt that she lacks the knowledge of how to manipulate this. After the shortest moment of hesitation, she brings her blood to the surface and lifts her palm over the mixture, allowing it to pour out as I had.

"Good," I murmur, taking a leather pouch from my pocket. Pulling the drawstrings open, I add a pinch of fine-ground oak bark to the solution. Quietly, I invoke the name of the nymph which had dwelt within the tree. Although most of the Druid secrets and lore have been lost with the domination of Christianity, the power of oak has been remembered.

Bellatrix brings a similar purse from her pocket, pouring powdered agate on top of the dark potion. She mutters a blessing in Old English as the liquid changes to a swirling violet.

At last, the most difficult task comes. A third bag, emblazoned with symbols to make it resist combustion, I open and whisper the spell in a rush, and then rapidly toss the entire contents into the bowl. Silver-grey phoenix ashes fall onto the surface, sparking white with soft pops. I had put a suspending spell on the bird so it would remain as just ashes, and the hard part was getting it to the bowl before it could assume another form. Still, I succeed.

"Almost done now..." I say and pick up four of the five green candles. In a specific order, I touch the flame to the potion. They flash in rainbow hues before dying away. With the red stick of chalk, I stir the mixture, speaking the final incantation with Bellatrix repeating my words.

"Drink," I command.

She looks dubious. Her delicate hands raise the bowl parallel her lips, but they do not part. Needing reassurance, she looks up again at me. Irritated, I demand again "Drink it. Do you think I would let you come to harm?"

"No, of course not, my lord. I trust you wholly. Please forgive me."

I dismiss the plea for pardon and gesture for her to swallow the liquid. Eventually, she consumes it all and places the empty bowl aside. The completion is incipient. For this last stage, I give her the talisman which has been resting over my heart through this ritual.

She wraps it about her wrists as priorly instructed, so it looks as though she is praying. The remaining candle lights the area, though it fails to permeate the dense smoke hanging about the pentagram. After ascertaining that everything has been performed correctly, I leave her to meditate.

* * *

Three hours pass and I walk into the chamber to see how she fares. To my surprise, the smoke has cleared, the taper just normal wax and a burnt wick, the pentagram now ordinary chalk. Moonlight falls through a window near the ceiling, encircling Bellatrix.

Her head is bowed yet, her posture immaculately the exact way it was when I left, her long hair hiding her face. If not for everything else, I might have thought she was in a trance still, but she would be aware of when the spell had reached its goal.

"It is done then?"

"Yes," she says without moving whatsoever.

"Are you well?" Not that I care for her especially, but it would be a loss if she was rendered blind, as is the most common effect.

Suddenly, her shoulders begin trembling and I hear that she stifles a sob. Drawing in a shuddering breath, she cants her head and her tresses fall away, revealing tear-lined cheeks.

"What is it?"

"My lord...I can do no magic."


	3. Need me

Given

_"Need me"_

* * *

Bellatrix is adjusting. Her focus is this child. Personally, I take it as a loss, for she was valuable in magic, but there is no time to console her. While most of my elite are diligently celebrating, there are still preparations to be made. At least Lucius and his son have kept their wits about them. I am allowing them to handle two duties that, by necessity, I cannot myself. It is difficult to place such trust in them, but I see no other option, and I would have someone competent. 

The task I have set for Lucius is to find a reliable doctor. I have made a mistake in not doing this before now, three months until my heir will be born. Naturally, I require someone with legitimate talent in the field; most of those people are employed by the Ministry, so that narrows the field considerably. Lucius can manage.

What Draco must do is distract everyone at Hogwarts, including some of his allies. I have selected which of my Death Eaters to inform with care, and none of their offspring need to know anything of this. Treason abounds on it's own; I do not want Bellatrix harmed in such a vulnerable state. Of course, only I realize her lamentable affliction. Speaking of traitors, I have instructed Draco to spy upon Severus. Where his loyalties are, only he himself knows, if that. Whatever the truth in that matter is, I know that Dumbledore has attempted to scry and discover things about me. Draco has to hinder him, and watch Potter. I want the damned boy gone before my heir can be manipulated against me.

For the moment, I am laboring over more mundane difficulties: where to keep the child. Ideally, it would stay with me, so I know it is raised properly. However, I must travel often, I would likely have little time for a baby, and in the event that I need fight, I would not have my heir near as an easy target...

"My lord?"

"What is it, Bellatrix?" I ask harshly, roused from my musings.

In her eyes, I can read that she regrets disturbing me, but she chooses to forge on despite it. Nervously, she crosses into the chamber-one among dozens of underground lairs in the wizarding half of Paris's catacombs-and curtsies awkwardly, one hand supporting her swollen waist.

"Henceforth, you need not do more than bow your head. What did you desire?"

Despite my forgiving her annoying interruption, she is apprehensive of speaking. Her eyes turn away from my face and she shifts her weight with more than mere discomfort at her burden. When I glare impatiently, she finally answers. "You see...my lord, I was simply thinking and...What will you have me do once the child is born? How can I be of further use?"

"You cannot if you are not loyal," I respond coldly. Does she think I would but cast her out? What idiocy! As though I would send such a potent weapon to the hands of my foes!

"I did not mean to imply that-"

With a motion, I silence her. Rising from my chair I glower and tell her "Too often I hear this from you! If you incorrectly believe that your standing is any higher, it falls unto your own head, and you deserve whatever punishment comes. Do not question me, Bellatrix. I had intended to allow you some part in raising the infant, but if you continue to demonstrate such weakness and defiance, you force me to reevaluate your usefulness, the very thing that you are so concerned for. You will find yourself the catalyst in a self-fulfilling prophecy if you do not exercise restraint. Do you understand me?"

Instead of complying, as I anticipate, she begins crying. The rapid flux of disposition and new sensitivity are distressing, and not a problem I wish to bother with. Practicing the afore mentioned restraint, I sit down once more to wait until she is finished.

When it appears that the woman refuses to calm down, I say, admittedly conniving "Bellatrix, you are stronger than this. When I chose you to bear the child, I believed I had decided upon someone who could tolerate the consequences. Do you wish to disappoint me?"

"No, never, my lord," she replies, dainty hands furiously wiping away her shameful tears. Even she must acknowledge the great change in her personality. Hopefully, she will come back into herself.

"Good. Now, don't you agree that I am better equipped to find your purpose?"

"Yes."

"Then do not again impose. You conjure your own doubts. If you must cry, go to your sister and do so, for I have other business. Since you truly want what is best for the child, let me alone to arrange it, and don't work yourself up again. You will only make yourself ill, and that is the least of what my child needs. I am the last person you should mistrust."

"Of course. I will go now," she returns, her composure restored. With innate grace, Bellatrix exits, resolved, and shuts the heavy doors behind her.

* * *

"Bella, love, have you been crying?" Narcissa inquires from the bed in her makeshift room. Rising, with genuine concern in her eyes, she opens her arms to embrace her sister. Without reserve, Bellatrix returns the gesture. Narcissa smoothes her hair and asks again. 

Stepping back, the dark-haired woman settles on the bed's edge, her frame slumped slightly in weariness. She crosses her ankles, turning her feet so the sides touch the floor in order to relieve the pressure on them, and nods in embarrassment.

"Oh, what happened?"

"I only got too emotional, I suppose. It's so unnatural."

"Do not worry, though. I was the same when I was pregnant, though I imagine the situation is more stressful for you."

"Why do you say...Oh. Narcissa, honestly, why have you never officially joined the Dark Lord? I've seen that you respect him, obey him..."

Narcissa sighs, and sits at her sister's side. For a long moment, her expression is blank, her sight inward, and at last she answers slowly "I have not because that is what Lucius wished, and at first I was unwilling to be his ally. I feel safe though; the pledge is there, unspoken. Perhaps when Draco is eighteen...I will speak to him, and Lucius too. Is that enough to reassure you on that account?"

She receives no response, but it is there, by tacit, when Bellatrix moves on to another, lighter topic. Leaning back against the cool, stone wall, she says "Tell me about Draco. I haven't seen him for so many years"

"Well, he still looks almost exactly like his father. Mannerisms are quite akin too. He's more...rebellious now though, but it's not really something that is easily perceived...You'll have to see for yourself. He will be here for the winter holidays."

"What's he rebellious over? Not the baby, is it?"

"No, I'll tell you his reaction to that in a moment. He's angry because Lucius informed him that we're wanting him to marry Pansy. I don't think it's such a bad match. Lucius and I didn't get along at first, but you learn to live with such inconveniences."

"Why does he oppose to her?"

"Draco said in no uncertain terms that...well, she was just not attractive enough."

"Really? Such a meager argument?" Bellatrix asks, bemused. A general understanding exists that one cedes to their parents' wishes in some areas, and marriage is one of them.

"And Lucius answered that whether or not Pansy was attractive, it didn't matter. In fact, Lucius said quite plainly that he could have as many mistresses as he pleased. I don't think that's what concerns Draco though. Pansy's not the most clever girl, and you know how intelligent Draco is..."

"Is that it then?"

"No, it's his pride too. I can tell that he hates how Pansy has a claim to him when she wouldn't if he had his own way."

"Could there be someone else that he wants to marry, perhaps? This is all very sudden, this attitude."

"No, it isn't. I think he's only realizing now though that he'll be with Pansy forever if he doesn't defy us."

"How do you feel about it?"

"I can't say yet." Narcissa mutters, pensive.

"Ah...What was his reaction to the news?"

"He was obviously surprised in the beginning, but he is sincerely pleased now. You see, I think that is one of the things that concerns him so-he can't envision Pansy as the mother of his children."

"Children? I had no idea he was so inclined."

"Honestly, I think he would be far better off if he had a brother or sister. It seems he never even saw another child until he was seven or so, but Lucius told me that he had been an only child, and his father before, back to the point that the Malfoys stopped producing daughters. Anyway, we were just like him at that age, remember?"

"I do."

"He'll get over the fancy. That's all it is, and then he'll realize that wedding well is the best way to serve our Lord."

"Indeed. I think he'll be a good role model for my baby."

"Did you find out what he plans for it?"

"Not much. I should not have questioned, and you should not have encouraged me to do so."

"And this was what upset you?"

Bellatrix nods, looking down at her round waist. Narcissa laughs suddenly and takes Bellatrix's hand, saying "It's been so very long since there has been an occasion to formally celebrate! The young ones all get married about the same time, and then come these awful periods during which nothing happens."

"No, no, it's not long after that they all have children," Bellatrix responds, a wistful smile coming to her face where one would anticipated only sadistic ones. Like two school girls, after having been parted many years, with so much to unite them now, they both smile and begin gossiping like they did in the past.

"Won't Draco have lovely children?"

"Children?"

"Well, _child_ then," his mother answers.

"Well, of course he shall! I can hardly wait to see him again!"

* * *

"You, Dr.Wright!"

"Pardon, sir?" a flustered, young doctor asks, straightening his square glasses.

"Listen, but a moment, Doctor. You see, the nurse-"

"Greta?"

"Yes, her...She told me about your troubles with your... ah, financial affairs. I have a solution, if the means aren't below you?"

"Well...Oh...Mr...Um, what's your name, sir?"

"That's not your concern, yet. Back to what I was saying. I am in need of a doctor, obviously, someone reliable for my sister-in-law. However, we are in a somewhat...delicate situation. We enjoy our privacy, if you take my meaning?"

"I believe so, sir."

"Good, now money-"

"But I couldn't accept..._bribes_!"

"Quiet, please, Doctor."

"Oh, but..."

"Just listen, please. You work for your uncle, don't you?"

"Yeah. How-"

"He knows about your Annie's illness, doesn't he? Yet he will not give a raise, a loan even, nor supplies from the hospital, but you work for him. What is the difference, except that your little girl shall get better?"

"I haven't finished school yet..."

"And it'll be easier to do so if you agree."

"How could I live with myself?"

"How could Annie live at all? How do you live with yourself then? Trust me; I'm a father, Dr.Wright. You can help my dear sister-in-law, and your daughter will get help."

"I wouldn't be doing anything...illegal, would I?"

"Not directly."

"Oh..."

"Come to this place two days before the date written," Lucius says, handing him a slip of paper, then walks out of the small, privately owned hospital, faking a limp.

* * *

"Draco, why are you so eager to grade essays, of all things? There is a Quidditch game coming up." 

The blonde boy shrugs and continues to read the scroll, a quill poised to mark errors. Once he finishes with that sentence, he sets the parchment down and looks up at his professor.

"I can't tolerate being with the rest of them much longer. Granger made some very dramatic speech about the NEWTs a couple days ago at breakfast, and then one of the Gryffindors pointed out how much better their scores on OWLs were than the Slytherins, so they're seriously having a studying contest. I have never seen so many idiots in the library before, but they all come back to the Common Room to quiz each other!

"And then this years batch of first years...It's really, truly disturbing, Professor, and they're scared of us! I wasn't scared coming here! Oh, and there is this one girl...has a crush on Potter!"

"A Slytherin?" Snape asks, aghast.

"Isn't it horrid?" Draco muttered, returning his attention to the scroll, "Plus, there's Pansy. She was pestering me to come to her house a while over the holidays, so I told her we're going to Paris this year, which is true, but now she keeps asking me to bringpresents back for her...Anyway, can I give Granger a lower grade? She forgot two commas, and she misspelled 'paregoric'...Oh, wait, it's a quote..."

Severus smirks, and says "Two points off. So, why are you heading to Paris?"

Draco's eyes narrow suspiciously at the casual inquiry, the crimson-tipped quill pausing a moment. In the span of half a second, he gains his composure. His answer is "Because my mother wants to"

Snape listens, curious, wondering why Lucius would indulge his wife, but decides not to pry. Instead, he asks what Draco intends to do about Pansy. He runs a hand through his pale hair in exasperation, saying "Well, I suppose I'll pick up a necklace. Maybe I should make a card or something, and then act hurt when she's disappointed."

"Even she won't fall for that." he answers, laughing quietly, meanly.

Draco says suddenly "What if she's brilliant, and just pretending?"

"It couldn't be. Pride conquers intelligence, always."


	4. Help me

**Given**

_"Help me" _

* * *

The bed creaks. It echoes, because it's silent in the chamber. She rolls, and the bed creaks again with the weight. She tosses her head, side to side, restless. She sighs heavily, reaching for the glass of water on the table. 

"Here you are, Bella."

"Thank you." she says, sitting up with difficulty to receive it. Drinking without her usual grace, she swallows the entire contents before asking "Hasn't Lucius come back yet? I truly don't feel well."

"I know. You'll feel yourself again once this is done with."

"Would you mind letting me alone for a bit, Narcissa?"

"Are you certain you will be all right?"

"Yes, could you please? I would like to sleep for a while."

"Very well. Lucius will be back soon, I should think."

"I hope so."

Much to Bellatrix's annoyance, Narcissa covers her with a beautiful quilt. Like everything belonging to the Malfoys, it is wantonly expensive, having pearls sewn onto it. It is quite out of place, considering that the lot of them are hiding in the safest location to be found, in a remote section underground, heated and lighted only by their magic.

It was thus that Bellatrix is left in the dark. In a few hour's time the heat will be gone, and the chamber will be cold once more. At some point, someone will come to warm the room, and she will feign sleep so that they wouldn't know that she can't heat it herself. She fears that on some level, her sister must know instinctively.

* * *

"Draco?"

"Huh?"

"Where are your parents?" Severus Snape asks, acting as a chaperone. This year, there has been an unusual amount of fights, of abnormal violence, prompting Hogwarts to take action due to the complaints. Snape had been unlucky enough to be appointed this duty.

Ill-tempered and ascetic as usual, he kept to himself in the first car, joined by a few Slytherin pupils. Several times, Draco had attempted to find a place in another car. The first time, he was sent away by an attendant for standing in the aisle, then Potter and his friends had annoyed him until her left that car, and each time he tried after, he was met with no more success. He had failed to escape Snape, so now is in an uncomfortable situation.

One of the last at the train station, Draco plays at waiting for his family, hoping that Snape would get bored and leave. He wonders ruefully why he told Snape about going to Paris in the first place. Avoiding his teacher's question, he covers his owl's cage in a disdainful manner. Unable to remember a time when there were not at least fifteen owls in the aviary among hunting falcons and hawks, he had never formed an attachment to the bird, though he had always secretly wanted a cat.

When Severus repeats his question, Draco thrusts a finger between the bars. Predictably, the owl bites him, giving him a good reason to continue ignoring his professor. Knowing Snape will likely ask a third time in a few minutes, Draco gathers his belongings and says cordially "I suppose they are busy doing something, maybe forgot. I'll just leave. Enjoy the holidays, sir."

"How are you getting home?"

"By taxi..." he tells the man reluctantly.

"Taxi? You mean a muggle taxi?"

"Yeah."

Snape's expression is puzzled, his dark eyes shrewd. "Since when have you mingled with muggles?"

Draco considers making a colorful, slightly inappropriate, and entirely false comment, but decides against it. Lying again so not to reveal anything, he responds "Since people started getting robbed traveling by Floo."

"Oh, right. Your parents don't care about you wandering around with muggles?"

"No. Well, they do, but it's obviously the best choice. They wouldn't, but they don't have to go very far to get where they need to be."

"Still, I think I ought to accompany you."

Carefully keeping his expression bland, Draco returns politely "You don't have to. It's no more than twenty minutes or so to a spot where I can cross back to the wizarding side. From there, I'll just go to Goyle's place and go by Floo from there. It's not far."

Snape shrugs his thin shoulders, saying "I'll come anyway."

"What for?" he inquires, suspicious.

"Caprice, if you will."

Unable to find a plausible excuse for Snape not to come along, Draco sighs and agrees. Starting to get stressed, Draco begins planning how he may ditch Snape before he realizes that there is no such place to enter the wizarding world like he mentioned. He can't let Snape follow him to the airport.

* * *

"Good day, Mr..." 

"In time, Doctor, in time. Here is hardly the place for a discussion."

"Oh, of course." Wright says anxiously, adjusting the angle of his glasses.

"So, my friend, we're off to Paris. Did you bring what I told you to?"

"Paris!"

Lucius Malfoy arches an eyebrow towards his German companion. He meekly protests "But I have nothing else with me: no clothes, no money!"

When Lucius simply smirks, Franz Wright adds "I don't even speak French!"

"You speak English well enough. They speak English in France, too. You'll be provided for so far as amenities and necessities," he answers with typical arrogance, assuming anyone worth communicating with would be able to do so in his native language. Disregarding the doctor's concerns, he says again "You did bring what I requested?"

"Yes, but, sir"

"We're going by a muggle plane in half an hour. There is no time, Doctor."

"My wife"

"You can write her when we get there."

"Get where, exactly?"

Lucius only smiles grimly, turns, certain Wright will follow. Striding purposefully through the crowd on the busy street, he does not even peer over his shoulder. Desperate and irrational, plus still slightly shocked, Franz does follow. Seeking his employer's sleek, pale hair, he catches sight of the taller man and hurries in his wake, to be lost amid a sea of strangers.

* * *

"Bellatrix, why did you not bring this to my attention? It is no curious thing that you are unwell, keeping to where it is cold and damp. You could have come to the main hall; why didn't you?" 

"My lord, I need sleep," she pleads wearily. Dark crescents beneath her eyes testify the truth in her statement.

"It would not be difficult to say that you are only so spent from the pregnancy that you cannot waste energy. I could assign someone to such a duty."

"My lord, I mean no disrespect, but that wouldn't be a solution long."

I watch her stoically, annoyed with her stubbornness. Perhaps, it is in part my fault for praising her overmuch, but that cannot explain her behavior entirely. I would love dearly to 'glance' into her mind, but to have such devotion as hers requires that I afford certain courtesies, such as basic privacy. There are ways around that.

"Bellatrix, I understand that." I reprimand, then say, "You do not regret this child, do you?"

"Oh never! My lord, you are so good to pardon me throughout this! I know I have been...I am sorry to have caused you this trouble. Pride, it was, pride, my lord! I trust you wholly."

It is honestly that she speaks, I know, but it doesn't matter either way. If she will lie even, then she does not really question me, or does so little that the sensible portion of her will rapidly convince her that I am right in the end.

"In a matter of days, Lucius will return with this Dr.Wright he found. Until then, I am certain Narcissa will take care of you." Bellatrix flinches at the wording, and reassure her lightly.

"But will she believe I am so weakened?"

"Will she believe what I tell her?"

"I think so, my lord."

"Then, yes. After all, this is not a normal pregnancy. She would not know the difference." I say casually, eager to return to more urgent responsibilities, of which there are many. It is all coming together.

* * *

"You said about twenty minutes, didn't you?" 

"Mmm-hmm."

"We have walking around for thirty or so."

"Can I help that the cabbie doesn't know his way around? I only have so much muggle money on me, sir."

"Then you don't know where we are?" Snape asks, feeling distinctly out of place because he is attired in his black robes yet. Draco, oddly inconspicuous for being dressed in muggle clothing, nods. Actually, Draco can tell precisely where they are because he had intentionally gave their cabbie the wrong directions, correctly guessing that Snape would not realize. Now, only to get away from the professor, accidentally of course.

Plotting, Draco kicks the toe of his Converse against a crack in the pavement. Feigning as if he were more stressed than he is, he sighs expressively and asks if Snape would like to stop to eat somewhere. The man shrugs, saying "There is a restaurant right across the street."

Draco gives him a disgruntled look, complaining "Sushi?" In truth, he loves it, but he has always felt the Severus Snape considers him spoiled. If that is the case, Snape will probably go along with him if he makes it too difficult to do otherwise.

"Fine." Snape says, perfectly content if it means a little more time to observe. Even if Snape had not noticed everything, he had caught on to more than his pupil thinks.

"Yeah, there must be a dozen better places. See all these muggles with cameras? We're at some tourist destination, so there will be plenty to choose from." he tells Snape, heading to a particular location.

* * *

"Hermione, it's weird." 

"What is?"

"My scar..."

"Is it hurting again?"

"No, and it hasn't for the longest time, up until now."

"Well, you have been doing all the things Snape told you to, haven't you? Maybe that is a sign of improvement."

"I don't know...I can't help but feel like something's happening. You know, calm before the storm?"

"So you are worried because nothing is happening?" she asked, folding and unfolding a section of the blanket she was lying under. Harry looked at his sock-clad feet, sitting on Ginny's empty bed, across from Hermione's.

"I guess that sounds pretty ridiculous."

"Not at all. Almost every time you've had an instinct about something, you have been right, Harry." She gets up and shuffles across the wooden floor to sit beside Harry, but not until she had pulled the blanket out from beneath him and around her shoulders.

"Yeah...It still doesn't feel like we're doing enough though."

"Well, what do you expect, Harry? They can't send an army after him."

"I know, I know..."

"Did you see anything when that happened with your scar?"

"Nope, but I felt his...not joy, exactly, but contentment, I guess."

"Don't worry, we'll get to the bottom of it."

"Yeah...Thanks, 'Mione."

* * *

Draco is sorely tempted to ask how Snape's dates often go, if he has them at all. Snape just stares at him coldly, prodding his chicken salad with distrust, their casual conversation gone. He must work with caution. 

Under the guise of feeding the insistent owl bits of bread, Draco bends or snaps a few crucial wires of the bird cage in a furtive manner so that it appears he is only holding the cage steady.

With all the rude glances muggles keep aiming towards them, Snape is ready to leave by the time Draco finishes his pasta with deliberate slowness. Gathering his various belongings once again, the final object Draco grabs is the owl. Snape, naturally, had never offered to help carry some of it.

Exiting the restaurant, he leads Snape to a busy corner were a group waits for traffic to cease. Intentionally he shoves his way to the front, in a subtle manner, with Snape at his heels. He sets all his luggage down a moment before the light changes, making it seem like his arms ache.

The signal indicates for the pedestrians to cross, and busy with their own tasks and unsympathetic to the pushy teenager, they walk around him, and one man knocks the birdcage into the street from where it had been resting precariously on the curb, like Draco had hoped. However, if that had not worked, he had placed he cage so near the street that he could have bumped it himself.

Rushing after this cage, rolling down towards the intersection due to the street's incline, he barely misses being run over. However, the car which almost hit the pedestrian is blocking traffic. Horns are blaring, and already an enraged driver or two has hopped out of his vehicle to harass a fellow driver.

In the chaos, Draco slips away from the scene with the rest of his possessions.


	5. Numb me

**Given**

_"Numb me"_

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter...the books at least.

AN: Sorry it has been so long...computer problems. I'm really loving this story, so please review...flames even.

* * *

Her knuckles are white from squeezing Harry's right hand. Ugly semicircles cover her own, and a few bruises on her wrist. Her shoulders are hunched, her back curved and sore. Her teeth dig into her lower lip, her nails back into Harry's hand. Beside Hermione, Ginny is in a similar stance, gripping Harry's left hand. Ron who is farthest from the doorway, next to his best friend's bed, glances across the room sadly. 

After this pain had lasted past ten minutes, Molly had called for a Medi-witch. Thirty-odd minutes later, none had come yet. News came then that the Floo network was to be evacuated for an untold reason, though rumor said that there had been some sort of attack

"God...it hurts !" Harry hisses, panting.

"I know it, mate." Ron says sorrowfully.

"What does it mean, Hermione?" the younger Weasley inquires, expecting her to have a theory about this event.

"Gin, I couldn't know. It's pretty plain something has changed, though."

Downstairs, the clock chimed, the only noise in the house.

* * *

Draco glares in annoyance at the security guard. The wiry woman, who reminds him of a younger McGonagall, glares back. Looking at him with more irreverence than he has ever encountered, she demands "Young man, what exactly is this...this...pot?" She holds up his cauldron with some difficulty. At least, it isn't still folded to fit in his suitcase. 

He blinks and goes back in forth between two lies: a gag gift or an actual cooking pot. Sighing, he says "That is movie prop...It is, um, a Christmas present for my...uncle. Be careful please; it's expensive."

"Oh, and where would you get enough money for a this, if it is a movie prop?"

"My family's wealthy," he says casually.

"So why aren't you in first class?"

He groans, and turns to the disgruntled line behind him, calling "Isn't this nonsense? They already checked; I don't have a bomb or anything! Why does it matter what exactly I have with me?" A few bold people shout their agreements.

"Well, it still doesn't matter. We can't let a minor fly alone without these lease forms signed. It's policy."

"Yes, and who would I have come with me?" he snaps, artificial tears filling his eyes.

"Legal guardians, young man," the prim guard answers.

"Well, my parents are dead! I'm going to meet my cousin in Paris!"

The woman appears shocked a long moment, before stuttering incoherently and marching away to get her supervisor. Draco played his part, acting suddenly overcome with emotion, wondering how he was getting away with this. He was acting horribly, but the guard was so puzzled that it had worked. Stupid muggles. Within moments, the guard returns with her superior. He surveys Draco quickly before sending a severe scowl towards the woman.

"Louise, what were you thinking. Does the kid have anything on him or not?"

"Not technically, but just look at this stuff! This kettle, and what are these leaves?" she demands, waving a bag of potion ingredients around.

"Nothing, just throw it out!" he says.

"And this stick here?"

"Louise, what's he going to do with a stick?"

"Poke ou"

"Don't even finish that sentence," the supervisor commands, making a note on his clipboard. Flipping through his papers, he takes Draco's passport from Louise, adds a few things to his notes, and hands it to the teenager.

"Go ahead, kid."

"But" Louise interrupted. Ignoring the guard, he takes his wand, and walks past to board the plane.

* * *

Outside the thick, wooden door, Lucius paces, for once doing whatever his wife tells him. Narcissa stays at Bellatrix's bedside, offering encouragement and informing Lucius whenever they need anything. Dr. Wright gives more professional advice, and administers potion to attenuate the pain. I oversee this all coolly from the far end of the room. 

Bellatrix moans again, doing her best not to plainly scream out. Wright carefully measures another dose of the medicine, which is serving a dual purpose of stanching the profuse bleeding induced by the difficult delivery.

"The baby is breach, I'm afraid."

The baby will live, for this spell cannot be repeated lightly. There are dire consequences, worse than the ones occurring the first time. My heir will survive, no matter what. Already having directly taken some of my life's blood, the sacrifice cannot be repeated.

Narcissa makes a soft sound, but says no word. Rather, she smoothes Bellatrix's now limp tresses, for which she was envious as a girl. The mother-to-be clenches her eyes shut, grits her teeth and pushes with all her strength, depleted as it is. She must not fail her lord.

* * *

Professor Snape listens to the silence, waiting for Albus to comment on the news he just gave. Sucking on a lemon drop, Dumbledore thinks it over, gazing at his bony, steepled hands. The photos and painting of former headmasters and mistresses lean forward or whisper softly. One especially stalwart and rash Gryffindor shouts out a ridiculous suggestion. 

"Now, now, Apollo, Mr. Malfoy surely doesn't merit that."

Snape snorts, and is rewarded with a surprisingly critical expression from Dumbledore, who tells him sagely "Severus, there are people who say much the same of you, and there are highly respected figures who deserve to be revealed for the traitors they truly are. We cannot see into Draco's heart. Maybe he isn't so lost as we presume."

"And perhaps he is not lost at all, but revels in his chosen path, and will take full advantage of your soft sentiment." Snape retorts defensively.

"Yes, but we'll find out, won't we? I admit, this whole episode sounds too odd to discount. We need a way to see for certain what's going on."

"Veritaserum?" is the sarcastic response.

"No, what we need to do is give him an opportunity to join us?"

"And if he does, to play both sides?"

"We'll figure something out. Don't worry."

* * *

A magical quill dips itself in ink of a special sort, which must print truth. The chamber is tiny, unlit, where the quill writes, because no human hand needs to guide it. The only contact it has with people at all is when the enchantment is renewed once each century. It stands above the parchment, easily ten meters when unrolled, and then neatly inscribes a name in graceful calligraphy: 

_Armand Black-Riddle_

That name is the 358th on the list of children who will be invited to attended Hogwarts in eleven years. None will look at until then, and it is highly unlikely that a person will notice the importance even then.

Above that name are two others which will play a vital role in the life of the 358th. One the 277th line is written Lethe Bianca Lupin. It says Alexander Ryan Cross-Dursley on the 314th line.

Far away, in Chicago, is a record kept on computers, in a muggle hospital. Under the entries for that date, there is one other name which will mean a great deal to Voldemort's heir. Young Elise Conolly is the girl, in for a rather severe case of pneumonia. Someday this average girl will shape the fate of a world she is not even a part of, for good or ill.

* * *

The head lolls in his palm. The skin is wet and thin, blue-tinted with webs of veins. The lips, fingers are more like purple, and no breath passes between that mouth or lifts the baby's chest. Cursing, Franz Wright massages the infant's shoulders and feet vigorously. The boy's tongue is pink yet. He had been moving in the womb before, an hour ago at most. He could be saved. The doctor was praying so, afraid to meet my gaze. 

I glower at the man. It is not his fault, I know. In the three months he has lived here, he has not once complained, questioned, or shirked his duty. Still, if fear will inspire him, as it does for so many others, then I will frighten him. I can do nothing. Magic will not avail us. Only Wright can rescue my heir.

Suddenly, the child howls a weak, pitiful cry, coughing up the fluid remaining in the lungs. Increasingly, he inhales more deeply, bawling more robustly. Wrapping the infant in warm linen, Wright all but thrusts him into Narcisssa's arms so that he can see to Bellatrix. It is not as vital for her to survive, but it would be ideal if she was the one to raise him, and it will make everything more simple.

I leave my seat in the corner, glide to the bed, and stand next to Narcissa. She is absently rocking the child to and fro, watching her sister with anxious eyes. Bellatrix is unaware of her, of any of us. The fever has taken her, and she tosses from side to side feebly, not unlike her son. A film of sweat coats her forehead and gaunt cheeks as she begs for her wailing infant.

Narcissa glances up, and I shake my head slightly. "Give me the infant," I command. She appears both hesitant and relieved to do so, but with her hands free, Narcissa grasps her sibling's gently. I watch Dr.Wright's progress for a moment, then turn my attention to the infant resting. Now subdued, he observes me with milky blue eyes, the sort which will become some other shade in time.

I continue staring at him with pride. He had survived! Even now, I can sense the hazy beginnings of thoughts, of consciousness. My heir will be brilliant, skilled, powerful...ruthless, yet obedient. He whimpers, as if agreeing with these unspoken notions.

"For now, she will have to rest. I cannot promise that she will...recover," Wright informs me, never quite sure how to address me.

"Should someone stay with her?" Narcissa inquires timidly.

"Well, it cannot hurt, but nothing can be done for her right now."

"Narcissa, you may stay with her. Keep the chamber heated. Dr.Wright, you will return here in two hours if her fever has not broken."

"And of Armand?"

"Armand?" I ask. She winces, her face blanching slightly. After clearing her throat, the blonde woman softly responds "Yes, this is how she thought of the child. Forgive me, I had assumed the matter was...settled." I peruse the form of the sleeping child a moment...Armand.

"Very well. That is what he will be called, and he will remain with me until Bellatrix is able to care for him, or it is apparent that she cannot."

* * *

"Hermione, I'm sorry...You can't go. Please! Don't leave me!" Harry calls, his emerald eyes brimming with tears. His hands are clamped over his head, as if he could capture the pain and squeeze it into something manageable. The only thing she could do was stroke his hair and say soothing nonsense, but she did so enthusiastically. 

"Harry..." she begins, but what could be said? How can she guarantee this is not Voldemort's final attack, the one that will ...kill him?

Molly and the Medi-witch stand in the hall, whispering in somber voices. Ron is not far off, attempting to eavesdrop, while hugging a heart-broken Ginny. The youngest Weasley sobs, with Ron patting her back and simultaneously trying to quiet her. Equally desperate, she finally turns her head away to stifle her crying, wishing that her mother would allow her to be with Harry.

"I think that I'll owl Albus. I'm really concerned, Stella. I've never seen an episode last so long, or be so intense. Albus will know something that will help."

* * *

Outside the door, Lucius, Draco, and a few others were pacing or whispering amongst themselves. They all stand still as marble statues when I step into the corridor, if it can be called that. They cluster around me, curious yet afraid to anger me. Having at least a head's height more than my tallest follower, most of then cannot see Armand. 

"The infant?" one bold man prompts, encouraged everyone else.

"is fine. His name is Armand."

"What of Bellatrix?" Lucius says blandly.

"I cannot say yet how she fares. You have done well though, Lucius, in choosing this Dr.Wright." I glance at the closed door, and Lucius understands that he is not to ask again. A murmur ripples through the small crowd, mostly of shock, but some are joyous or threatened by the development.

"Then the child has not been fed yet?" someone asks, the voice only remotely familiar. The murmur grows as my Death Eaters seek the person who asked. Lucius, in fact, is the only one who is not surprised when Draco forces his way through the group surrounding me. Interesting, the Malfoy boy...

"No."

"May I feed him then, my lord?"

Even more intriguing! Just like his father, reverent and sarcastic at once. Draco is a little fearful too; I can feel it. All of them are usually, but they can hide it, and Draco, it seems, cannot. The boy must have some of his mother in him too, if he is even interested in nursing the baby. I will have to pay him more heed from now on...

"Yes. Be careful." I say and place the fragile infant into Draco's arms, wondering where he had learned how to feed a baby. Lucius, judging from his expression, is musing over the same idea. Draco would not have offered if that domestic talent was beyond him. I will allow him this test. It is a small task, and there is much to be done.


	6. Save me

**Given  
**_"Save me"_

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

AN: Sorry this chapter is so choppy. It has to change perspective often because so much is happening. In the next chapter or the one after that, it will get better.

* * *

Two owls peck at each, chirping on the windowsill. Both of them stare with glittering eyes into the window, each insisting that the message they are carrying is more important. The larger white one snaps it's beak at the little brown, barely older than a hatchling. Albus Dumbledore doesn't recognize either of them, but they both fly in with an air of urgency. The smaller owl lands on his shoulder, holding it's right leg out. Dumbledore unties the scroll and unrolls it. 

_Dear Prof. Dumbledore,_

_About half an hour ago, my daughter Lavender went into a sort of trance. We believe that she had a prophecy. We've written it all down, but none of it makes any sense to us, and Lav doesn't remember what happened. According to my neighbor, these sort of events must be verified by an official. The Minister is away in Sweden, and many members of his Cabinet. I was hoping that you would have authority in this matter, or that you could refer me to someone who does. I hate to disturb you over the holidays, but if this is a prophecy, it is vitally important. There are references to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. _

_Sincerely,  
__Judy A. Brown_

Dumbledore neatly rerolls the scroll and sets it upon the corner of his desk, where the second bird is impatiently demanding his attention. Suddenly, he recognizes it as Hedwig. Smiling a bit, he moves to pet the bird, but she pecks at his hand lightly.

"Calm, calm, Hedwig. Now let's see that letter, hmm?"

The snowy owl thrusts out her right leg where a paper is dangling from a bit of twine, folded into uneven quarters. On the back were a few phone numbers, as if the author was in such a hurry that it didn't matter whether the sheet was clean or not. Unfolding it, Dumbledore reads aloud.

_Albus,_

_Harry's having another episode. Worst yet. Please come immediately. I'm sure something has happened, and I have no idea where Arthur is. _

_Molly Weasley_

Hedwig hoots again, and Dumbledore puts that letter beside the first. Turning, he taps his knuckles lightly against one of the portraits. In a few second's time, clever-looking woman holding a black cat pops up. She bows slightly as Dumbledore instructs "Matilda, please fetch Professor Snape. Tell him to come right away."

* * *

Draco's eyes have a strange sheen to them, the kind induced by panic and desperation. They are wide as he stares at me. I ignore him and wait for Wright's verdict. The Malfoy boy might have let my heir die. If I must find a way to obtain a new heir, Lucius will do the same. 

"Just fluid in the lungs. Perfectly normal. It wasn't this boy here's fault. Armand has a weak heart. He'll have to be monitored at all times, and make certain he stays warm."

I smile, knowing well the effect that action has on people. Much to Draco's discomfort, I clap one hand on his shoulder. To his credit, he doesn't flinch, though he stiffens, locks his knees. My eyes are reflected in his, I note, as I tell him "You have done well, Draco, to act with such...haste."

"I did only what I had to, my lord," he answers with a shudder.

* * *

Bellatrix stirs, panting, her eyes shifting under the lids in a disconcerting manner. She shivers despite the heat and the roaring fire. Narcissa sighs sadly, stroking her cheek softly. At that touch, her eyes flutter open weakly, and one slender hand rises, clawing at the air. 

"My baby?" she croaks.

"He is safe so far as I know, though Armand is a tiny thing."

"I want him."

"I'll ask."

* * *

The heavy oak door slams shut. Draco sits down in the only chair, wishing it had a cushion and wondering why his father had dragged him here. Lucius paces, furious, muttering to himself. Several times, he stops, opens his mouth to reprimand his son, only to promptly shut it as if there are no words to express his wrath. 

"Stupid boy!" he roars at last, storming up to Draco, who looks somehow defiant and submissive at once. Lucius stomped across the chamber, paced at least a dozen times, then halted to shout "Why? Why did you do it?"

"I didn't! I never did a damn thing to Armand! Even that doctor said so! What would I have to gain?"

"Nothing! Nothing! That's the point! All you accomplished is to make the Dark Lord suspicious."

"But I didn't do anything, I swear!"

"Do you think He cares? He would have killed you. Do you know how hard that would be to explain, how I would appear?"

Draco gawks, shocked completely still. He then leaps from the chair which rocks back and shatters on the stone floor. Clenching his fists, the teen bares his teeth and yells "Well, I'll try not to die painfully for your fucking benefit, Father!"

* * *

Severus enters the office without knocking, his steps brisk as he marches up to Dumbledore's desk. Dumbledore, who had been petting Fawkes with a weary countenance, jumps when Snape clears his throat politely. Bustling around to the front of his desk, the aged wizard says "I'm glad you're here, Severus. You see, Miss Lavender Brown had this vision, which might not be, and then Harry's in trouble and there's...Oh, just read these!" 

Snape picks up the papers indicated and skims each, frowning with worry. Handing them back to Albus, he asks "Potter's at the Weasley home, correct? I should go there, and you to see Lavender. After all, I can't really do anything on that account."

"Agreed."

With a wave of their wands, each man vanishes.

* * *

Narcissa passes Draco in the corridor. The tension is palpable in his flashing eyes, his rigid posture. Concerned, she approaches her son where he is leaning against the wall with a wicked scowl. Deciding that it is better to let him alone for a bit, she inquires "Where is the Dark Lord?" 

"Is He looking for me?"

"What? No, your aunt woke up. She wants to see the child."

"Oh...I'd check in the main hall, or the north wing."

Narcissa nods, leaving her son with a speculative expression. Following his advice, she heads to the main hall, where the Dark Lord is standing with Dr.Wright and a Death Eater she knows only by the ambiguous surname Smith. The woman walks there, the conversation ending abruptly.

"Yes?"

"Bella is awake now. She would like to see the child."

"Tell her to feed him," the Dark Lord orders the doctor, handing the infant to him. Franz Wright cants his head, half agreement, half a bow, and darts away quickly. After a moment of uncomfortable silence, Narcissa does the same.

Smith coughs to attract his Lord's attention. He succeeds, receiving a harsh glare. Unable to backtrack, he forges on to say "My Lord, about Ellis, we caught him."

"Where is he then?" He asks, referring to the man who supplied their doctor with medical supplies. It ended up that he was a traitor, spying for the Ministry. Auspiciously, he had not known what they needed the various things for, just that they were buying large amounts, almost as if an event was coming up where a lot of people would need to be healed. Like a war...When Wright needed certain potions for Bellatrix, Ellis had to know what was going on, vaguely. Smith was sent after the traitor.

"Dead."

"I told you I wanted him alive."

"We weren't the ones who killed him. He had a group of banshees as his guard. Idiot. As soon as blood was spilled, the creatures got the madness. It couldn't be controlled in the Floo Network. Banshees move differently."

"Then why did you attack him?"

"The fool ordered the banshees against us, my Lord."

"Leave. I would kill you if I didn't have more to do in saving us all!"

* * *

Albus Dumbledore materializes in the Brown family's living room. Judy rushes up to him, her hands twisting her old-fashioned apron in her anxiety. All but dragging him, Mrs.Brown leads him to her daughter in the dining room. Lavender sips water, slumped over, depleted. Her eyes are hazy, staring at a blank wall. 

"This is the paper," Judy tells him, stuffing it into his palm so she can comfort her child. He reads it, wishing it would prove false.

_The Dark Lord's heir takes the first breath of life,  
__Paid by the mother's sacrifice.  
__The child shall bring on the wizard's strife,  
__And a second savior will rise._

He quits reading abruptly. Lavender is quivering, screaming. Her eyes unfocused, Lavender begins twitching in her mother's arms. Smoothing the girl's hair back, Judy tries to assuage her, but Lavender's spasm intensifies as she repeats over and over "I see them! I see them!"


	7. Kill me

**Bonds  
**_"Kill me"_

Disclaimer: Harry Poter doesn't belong to me. Draco, however, is my slave. .  
AN: This chapter's kind of depressing. Sorry it isn't longer.

* * *

"Dead! They can't all be dead! Twenty-two people, Freya! How could this happen?" he demands of the Medi-witch. Head of the emergency unit at St. Mungos, Freya still manages to find time to talk to angry, grief-stricken Alastor Moody. Devastated herself, the woman leads him to a comfy chair in the waiting area and sits down beside him. She can spare him a few moments, at least.

"Fifteen of those people were dead when they got here, Mr. Moody. There was nothing that could be done. It does look like most of the inju"

"But they're dead? Tonks, Remus, Arthur, Shacklebolt? My friends...are dead?"

"It looks as if Mr. Shacklebolt will recover, though his left hand will have to be amputated to stop the poison."

"The others?"

"Yes, Mr. Moody, they have passed on," she says, clearing her tight throat, patting his hand sympathetically. Alastor's normal eye is red, tears running from it. The magical, protruding eye is unaffected, roving restlessly around the room, as if expecting more Death Eaters to materialize.

Of course, they appeared to be normal people, traveling for the holidays. During the chaos, the Dark Mark glowed luridly in the Network, calling the banshees to order before they fled. Anyone unlucky enough to have been in the Network was seriously injured or murdered. More unsettling, there would probably be several more victims coming to the hospital who had been partially in the Floo Network.

"There is a Ms. Hestia Jones who is conscious. She'll be here for the night, but she wants to talk to you immediately. Now don't be alarmed by her appearance. Her injuries look worse than they are."

Alastor refrains from making a sarcastic comment, reminding himself that Freya had saved the lives of several people and still found time to speak with him. He takes a steadying breath, muttering to himself until a shadow falls across him. Hestia leans back in her wheelchair as the nurse rolls her before front of Moody. He steels himself for the sight, but it still catches him off guard, which certainly is saying something.

All that is left of her ebony hair is stubble, blending in with her blackened scalp. Her shoulders have blisters, slathered with some sort of stinking ointment. Scarlet lines cross her cheeks, one of her eyes swollen shut where her burning hair fell across it. She is lucky though. The spell hadn't been strong enough to burn her skin, just her hair and the top of her clothing. With some difficulty, she smiles. He doesn't respond.

"What should we do?" she asks.

"We'll post a patrol, but I'm pretty sure it was Maurice they were after."

"Why would Maurice Ellis have anything to do with them? Wasn't he muggleborn?"

"Who knows? I saw him summon the banshees though. It turns out Ellis was involved in a lot of things. Shacklebolt learned that he was selling hallucinogenic mushrooms, he was transporting dragon eggs to America, running a fairy ring..."

"Fairy ring?"

"It's a slang term," he explained, "and basically it's catching Veela girls and selling them for concubines. Anyway, it really doesn't surprise me now that I know the truth."

There is silence between them for a moment. Hestia sips water from a paper cup she'd been holding, staring into the liquid. She sighs, missing that curtain of hair she could have used to hide her tears right now. Sniffling, she voices an issue that has weighed heavily in her mind since she awoke.

"What about Lethe?"

"Tonks fought so hard for that baby to live when she was born so early. It was a miracle when she did. Maybe she would have been bett"

"Don't say that, Alastor! Many people said that about Harry Potter, and where would we be without him? Conquered six years ago."

"You're right, Hest," he replies wearily. "I wonder how the kid's going to take it. All of them really. There's at least a dozen orphans around here. And Arthur...He was so excited that Percy would visit on New Year's and now...now he's dead. Good man, Weasley, has a good bunch of kids too. I'm sure at least of them will be there with Harry when that battle comes around."

* * *

Armand suckles greedily, though his cousin had fed him not long ago. His stubby fingers tug his mother's matted tresses, even as Bellatrix fluffs the wispy hair on the crown of his head, which is the same rich black as her own. She adores him instantly, and the infant seems to respond to her. She never imagined that she'd have children at his this age, nor had she desired any, but now that Armand is with her, the woman feels pride and affection for her feeble son.

Dr. Wright stands near the doorway, unsure how to act. After he had checked the woman's health, the mousy Franz is ignored, observing at a distance, longing for his own daughter. How is Bellatrix Lestrange deserving of a poignant moment with an unnatural child when he is parted from Annie and Gwen? He hadn't been able to write his family, as promised. Unbidden, jealousy and spite flare up in the normally placid man.

"The Dark Lord," he says with visible apprehension, "wishes that you sleep, regain your strength. You do not want to overextend yourself? I will bring the baby back in a few hour's time."

"You will give me a few more minutes with him," she commands imperiously. Unabashed, she continues breast-feeding, sparing Franz none of her attention. He steps back obediently, a fine crease between his brows to allude to his irritation. He glances at a golden watch, resolving to allot Bellatrix five minutes.

"His crib is in the next chamber?"

"Yes, to the right," the doctor answers impatiently.

"All right, you may take him back now," Bellatrix answers, kissing Armand's cheek before relinquishing him to Wright. The young man wraps the infant securely in his silk blanket, departing taciturnly. Bellatrix sighs to herself, wishing fruitlessly that she could protect him, and by doing so, herself.

* * *

She screams, her agony indescribable. Thrashing, the workers at St. Mungos bind her to the rails on her bed for her own good. Clumps of white curls and shreds of her own flesh are clutched in her hands, thrown at her assailants when they tie down her wrists.

She screams again, spitting and choking on her own saliva. Blood splatters on the sterile walls, the ceiling, the room divider. It is flung from her ears, result of the banshees' onslaught, and streams over her face from self-afflicted wounds. One nurse finally casts a powerful spell on her, and the patient collapses.

"My god, what is the matter with her?" an assistant whispers, stunned.

"The banshees must have driven her mad," an experienced witch responds as she labors, gently cleaning the victim. Another takes her pulse, a third tending the disturbing scratches and bald patches as another assistant releases the woman from the spell holding her limbs in place. None notice the Voldemort's brand upon her upper arm, white as molten metal.

* * *

Harry falls back against his pillow, moaning. The Dark Lord requires peace, or rest, so Harry is allowed the same. His face still exhibits the trials he has faced, his lips set in a grimace, pallid as the snow outside. The covers are tangled around his body from his flailing, and wheezing suffices as breath.

Snape lurks in the doorway between Molly and Hermione, watching Stella do what little would help. Ron is downstairs, getting tea for everyone he claims, but in reality, he does not want all of them to see him crying. Ginny's tears have dried, and she lays next to Harry despite the others' presence, worn out from the day's events and half asleep.

"It must be over," Severus remarks.

"Good. He'll be okay?" Ron says.

"Should be. We won't know until he's up," the professor responds, accepting a cup of chamomile tea, with sugar, honey, or cream. He drinks the blows on the fresh beverage, perusing Harry over the rim of the porcelain tea cup with a lachrymose, thoughtful expression. At length, Ron joins him at the foot of Harry's bed, peering into his tea. He jumps up, spilling the drink when the doorbell rings.

"I'll get it," he offers, mopping scalding tea from his stomach. The lanky teen hurries to the front door, returning soon after with a stern, youthful apprentice of St. Mungos. Recognizing him, Stella asks "Whatever are you doing here, Clarence?"

"You are needed at the hospital, Stell, and..." He swallowed thickly, stuttering. "I came here to...to inform you that...that Mr. Weasley has...died." The final syllable is so faint that they hardly hear it, but every person knows what he told them.

"What do you mean? How?" Snape asks, rising to his feet.

"The Floo, an attack by banshees...from Vol...Vol...Vold...Him."

Ginny wails, sitting up in the bed, wracked with sobs. Her thin frame shakes and she crawls to the floor so not to rouse Harry. Molly darts forward, kneeling to embrace her daughter, leaning against one another's shoulders, Ginny blotting her eyes on her hem.

"Oh my!" Stella mutters, escorting Ron to the empty bed. He doesn't fight her, simply follows, looking drained and ill as bile lurches in his stomach. He rolls over, facing a blank wall, denying what he had just learned. Hermione attempts to walk to him, but as soon as she stands, the world tilts before her and she crumples, caught by Severus Snape, who appears stoic as ever.

"Go on then. You are needed elsewhere. Just one thing. The people who were with Arthur, did any survive?" he inquires over Hermione's head, still supporting her.

"I...I don't know, sir. A lot of people are at the hospital. You should come when you are able," Clarence says, then Apparates after Stella.

* * *

The catacombs are evacuated. If all of my Death Eaters are gathered, we are an easy target. They spread out to the far corners of Europe, to hide until we will return in a week. There will be no communication, no evidence left behind. It is an efficient operation, and everyone is gone within an hour.

The exception is the Malfoys. Bellatrix and Armand must be somewhere secure with someone reliable to care for them. The doctor goes with them should there be need. Lucius is the only one I will make contact with at his manor, in four days, December 26th.

Of course, I shall keep track of everyone else. Most of them are still in France or have taken refuge in Spain or Belgium. I can sense each of them very weakly. Thus I know that only one lives who was sent to capture Ellis. Smith had to be dealt with after all, simply because I had no time to bother with him. Now only Morgana is left, though she is very close to death, obviously unable to come to me. Once we are in a more stable position, I will have Lucius fetch her. I cannot let the enemy use her.

* * *

A house elf scurries to the grand double doors and utters a pathetic spell to get inside Malfoy Manor. He repeats the incantation and poofs into a library where Lucius, Narcissa, and Draco pretend to read after dinner. Draco notices the elf first, nodding as acknowledgment.

"Master, Mistress, young master," Kershy squeaks, bobbing his head at each Malfoy in turn, "a man at gates, much important!"

Lucius goes to the window, scanning the grounds in the failing light of the setting sun. Seeing a lone figure behind the gates, barely discernable at such distance, Lucius casually says "Let him in." They can deal with one Ministry worker.

"Yes, master," Kershy squeaks and disappears. A short figure materializes before the gate as it swings open. The elf talks with the visitor a moment, judging by his erratic gestures, then walks up the path to the mansion, trailed by a tall man. Moments later, the doorbell rings, and then Kershy reappears in the library with their guest.

"Welcome," Lucius drawls, "and who exactly are you? What is your business here?"

The man walks to the hearth, stretching on hand before the hearth, his back to the Malfoys. In a raspy voice, he tells them "It's not important. Mrs. Malfoy, you had a sister, Andromeda?"

"What does it matter?" she snaps, nervous.

"This is her granddaughter," the stranger retorts, turning. In the crook of his arm is a drowsy infant with a crocheted pink hat.and mittens. "You are her only living relative. Andromeda's daughter passed on today. Her baby, Lethe, is yours."


End file.
